One More Night
by wonderwoundedhearers
Summary: Set at the end of Episode 10 - 'Vincent and the Doctor'. Amy shows her love for Van Gogh. Their feelings for each other can't be expressed in one night, but Amy will try her hardest. O/s. Vincent/Amy. Lem.


"I will miss you terribly," Van Gogh confessed as his fingers softly stroked Amy's hand.

A part of him wished that they would never leave – they were truly the only friends he had ever known, and they were still as good as strangers to him. But, Amy? Oh, Amy – she was beautiful, radiant, and his heart ached when she smiled at him. When her lips curved upwards at the corners he saw bright, brilliant flashes of colour with magnificent spectrums of light and dark. She had given him some kind of life in their very first words to each other, but she was to leave tomorrow. As he looked at her pale face lit by the moonlight, he felt like offering her his soul – mad though he was, he knew of love and he craved it. No one had ever made him feel it as Amy had.

Amy sighed as she watched the stars flicker above their heads – she truly didn't want to leave Vincent. She had always admired his paintings, the colour, the insight, and here she was holding hands with the man – it felt like she was irrevocably connected to him, in the deepest of ways. Amy wanted to help him, stay with him, but she knew she couldn't – it would change the future, and the Doctor would never allow it.

_But_, she thought happily, _we still have one more night_…

* * *

Van Gogh was lying in his bed, thinking of Amy in hers below him – he wondered if she was in a relationship with the Doctor, and if that was why she seemed reluctant to have anything to do with him. He sighed as he rolled onto his side, watching the stars through a crack in the shutter across his window.

At that moment downstairs, Amy couldn't sleep either – she was wondering how best to get away from the Doctor and upstairs to Vincent. She was held back by the idea of waking the Doctor, and the fact that Vincent may well be asleep and did not want her attentions – she had to give it a go, though.

Amy listened to the Doctor's soft snores from the bed next to hers, and when she was complacent that he was deeply asleep, she slipped out from under the covers and tiptoed to the stairs that led to Vincent's room. The night-dress the Doctor had given her fluttered around her legs in a cool breeze from an open window, and the white material shone in the moonlight.

Van Gogh was just considering talking a walk to clear his head, when he heard a tiny, soft knock on the door of his room. He flung back the covers with a groan, thinking it was the Doctor at his door, but when he opened it, he was met with the vision of a beautiful angel in a flowing white gown.

Amy giggled as Vincent's mouth opened it surprise, and then stayed open. She smiled at him sweetly for a moment or two, but he still hadn't moved, and she began to get uncomfortable and worried.

"Vincent?" She said softly, "Can I come in?"

Coming back to his senses, Van Gogh closed his mouth with a snap and ushered Amy into the room eagerly. He closed the door behind her, taking a steadying breath - he had never seen a woman look so attractive or desirable.

Amy sat down on his bed, pulling her legs up underneath her and inhaling Vincent's sweet smell – his scent was odd in its sweetness, not feminine just comforting. She smiled up at him as he came to stand a foot away from her.

Amy patted the spot on the bed beside her, "Are you going to sit down?"

Van Gogh nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat, "Of course."

He sat on the edge of the bed gingerly, leaning slightly away from Amy in his fear of doing something that she did not like. But Amy ignored his actions – she knew what she wanted, and she wanted _him_.

"I'm leaving in the morning," she said quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder.

Van Gogh flinched, not at her touch but at her words – they were so final, so definite.

"I'll be sorry to see you go," he replied just as quietly.

Amy turned to him, moving closer until her legs touched his. Her hand played with the longer bit of hair at the nape of his neck, making Van Gogh shiver. His clear-blue eyes locked with Amy's dark depths and he couldn't help his hands reaching for the one lying in her lap. His thumbs tenderly brushed her knuckles, and he hated the way his hands were rough and calloused when Amy's were soft and tender – it made him feel like he wasn't good enough for the angel that sat next to him.

"You don't…have to go," he said hopefully, and Amy's heart clenched.

"I do," she breathed, and Van Gogh felt something within him shatter as she turned him down.

He stood quickly, "You need to get your rest, Amy."

Amy frowned – she didn't want it to go like this. She wanted to show him her love, and then he would have something to hold onto – maybe he wouldn't commit suicide later on, maybe she could help.

Amy stood up in front of him, her hands framing his saddened face, "I need to show you, Vincent."

"Show me what?" He sighed – the feeling of her hands on his skin sent delicious ripples through him.

Amy kissed him. Their lips moulded together, and Van Gogh couldn't help the pained sigh that left his throat – kissing Amy was sweet torture, as she would leave and he would be alone, and he couldn't take much more of the delight she gave him, knowing that. His lips pulled from hers, and he breathed heavily as Amy looked up into his eyes, trying to show him her true feelings.

"I need to show you how much you mean to me, and how much I care," she whispered, and Vincent's eyes bore into hers.

"You can't…" He sighed, "You can't care."

"Why not?" Amy frowned, as she considered coercing him physically.

His fingers twirled one of her red curls, "You have too much to throw away for me."

"I'm not throwing anything away," Amy growled, silently cursing every villager who had ever hurt the wonderful man standing in front of her. "I want you to see how much you're really worth, Vincent. You're so special, so wonderful, but you just don't see it."

Before he could utter any kind of reply, Amy's lips were on his again and his resistance crumbled. His arms snaked around her waist, holding her soft, pliant body to him – he could feel desire shooting along his spine at the contact, and he realised just how badly he needed her.

"_Amy_," he moaned against her lips, and she pulled back to smirk at him.

"Let me love you," she murmured as she unbuttoned his sleep-shirt.

Van Gogh could not offer any resistance as Amy's quick fingers opened up his shirt and pulled it off of him with sensual dexterity. Amy then turned her hands on herself, unlacing the cord at the top of her night-dress. Van Gogh gently pulled her hands away, wanting to undress her himself like a fine parcel or present, but he knew she was so much more. As his fingers untied the bow and unlaced the cord, the night-dress bared Amy's pale shoulders to his view.

Amy sighed as his fingers danced over the newly-exposed skin, and she set to work on his clothing. Her hands found the buttons to his trousers, and as she undid them her fingers brushed the tip of his hardness. Vincent groaned throatily as Amy completely undressed him and her soft hands gently stroked him. He found his fingers gripping Amy's night-dress tightly, and it was all he could do not to rip it from her. He slipped the thin material off of her shoulders completely, and it fell down to pool around her feet.

He stared at the angel before him, her natural beauty shining as it was illuminated by the soft moonlight coming through the crack of the shutter. Amy took in Vincent as he watched her – he looked graceful, yet he still held an essence of masculinity that made Amy's knees weaken. His pale skin almost glowed, and his eyes seemed to pierce her soul. She wrapped her arms around him without a second thought, kissing the spot just above his heart.

Van Gogh shuddered at the hot, thrilling contact of Amy's body on his, and he also felt emotion well up inside him – she truly wanted him, mad or otherwise. He kissed her forehead tenderly, his lips then skimming over her cheek to plant a kiss there. Vincent eventually made it to her lips, and Amy savoured the sweet shock that shot through her. But after a moment, the pressure of his desire digging into her hip had her emotions run wild, making the tender kiss turn passionate.

Vincent felt the change in her embrace – it was urgent, now. He grasped her hips, and then proceeded to let his hands wander down the outside of her soft thighs. Amy's hands wandered down his surprisingly-toned chest, stroking his nipples until he moaned against her mouth. As his lips parted to release the sound, her tongue gently invaded his mouth and she explored the new territory eagerly.

Van Gogh found himself grinding his hips into hers, trying to relieve the pressure welling up inside of him by creating the sweet friction. Amy was too far gone to go slowly now, and she pushed Vincent back onto the bed and then proceeded to straddle him. His length brushed her core, and they both moaned at the contact. Without any further warning, Amy slid down onto Van Gogh's hardness, enveloping him in her sweet heat.

"Amy," Vincent breathed, "you're so beautiful."

His hands directed her movements as he would direct his paint brush – they began to colour the room with their passion and desire. Amy had never felt so fulfilled, nor so completely happy – there was only her and Vincent, and nothing would change that.

Van Gogh's lips brushed the column of her throat, as Amy's movements increased in speed – his teeth nipped her sensitive flesh, causing Amy to mewl, "_Vincent_."

He had never heard a more glorious sound than his name falling off of Amy's lips like a prayer. His arms crushed her body to his, almost as if he was willing them to merge into one being. Amy's pebbled nipples brushed Vincent's, causing the pleasure to mount, and both knew that their heated coupling would come to a climax soon enough.

Amy threaded her fingers through Van Gogh's incredibly soft, dark red hair – her hips began to raise and drop themselves so quickly and intensely.

"Oh, God," Vincent's breathed against Amy's neck – if only she would let him keep her forever, they would have this passion and love for the rest of their lives.

Van Gogh thrust up every time Amy dropped, hitting the sweetest spot imaginable inside Amy – it was pure bliss for both of them, and Amy could feel she was seconds from her release.

"Vincent, are you ready?" She asked breathily, and she received a soft, low moan in reply.

He caught his breath, "Yes, Lover."

His endearment heightened her desire, and when one of his hands wandered down the front of her body and caressed her sensitive nub, her release burst forth and she cried out in absolute pleasure.

Van Gogh watched his angel as her face shone with happiness and fulfilment, and when she began to convulse around him and her wet heat clutched at him, he could deny his release no longer. Stars and colours of all kinds burst before his eyes, and Van Gogh was sure that he touched heaven.

Both their bodies were racked with shivers and shudders of pleasure as they came down from their highs. They both collapsed sideways onto the bed, and Van Gogh gently wrapped them both in the bed covers as he reluctantly removed himself from Amy's body.

"That was…" He began, but trailed off.

Amy closed her eyes, a sleepy smile gracing her pink lips, and snuggled against Vincent's chest, "Perfect?"

Van Gogh wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling sleep pulling at him, "_Perfect_. I love you, Amy."

"I love you, too, Vincent…" Amy sighed, drifting off into the warm, welcome darkness.

* * *

When Van Gogh awoke in the morning to shouting downstairs, he noticed that his arms were most definitely empty. His heart clenched as he realised that Amy must have left their warm, soft haven.

"Vincent!" The Doctor suddenly cried, and Van Gogh could hear him running up the steps to his room.

The door swung open, and he had just enough time to make sure his naked body was covered from the Doctor's view.

"We'll be leaving in an hour or so – how about you join us for a farewell breakfast? My treat," the young man grinned, and then noticed his state of undress. "Hmm… Well, yes… Perhaps, you ought to…get dressed first…"

Van Gogh heard a beautiful echoing laugh ring out from downstairs, and sighed dreamily internally – _Amy_.

"Come on, Vincent!" He heard Amy call, and the Doctor grinned again.

"Lovely Amy," he sighed, "What would I do without her?"

The Doctor vanished out of the door, and Van Gogh shakily and reluctantly pulled himself from his bed. Amy would be leaving, and he knew he would never see her again – he hoped that she would remember him.

* * *

After their breakfast, their _almost_ goodbye and the visit to the Art gallery, Vincent felt as though he had new life breathed into him. It was only as the Doctor stepped into his blue box, and Amy was about to follow, that Van Gogh realised this _was_ the final goodbye. While the Doctor wasn't looking, he pulled Amy into his arms and kissed her feverishly.

Amy refused to feel the agony that wanted to envelop her – she pulled back and kissed Vincent on the cheek.

"I'll come back to you," she whispered, a small smile dancing across her lips.

"We both know that is a lie," Vincent sighed, resting his forehead on hers. "But, thank you."

Amy caught his face in both her hands, "_I. Will. Come. Back._"

"But, the Doctor-" Vincent began.

"I don't care," she smirked, interrupting. "I _will_ see you again."

Van Gogh nodded, his heart filling with hope. He kissed her luscious lips one last time, and then let her go. His hands reached for her as she stepped backwards and into the blue box.

"I love you," he whispered brokenly.

Amy smiled, a single tear running down her pale, glowing cheek, "I love you, too. Be good to yourself…for me."

With that the door swung shut and the box disappeared into thin air, the ringing bells that indicated its departure faded into the distance. As Vincent looked up into the bright blue sky, vowing that he would find Amy again, Amy was promising the same thing as she leaned her head against the cool wood of the TARDIS door.

They were made for each other, and neither would let the other go.

Amy whispered one last thing, uselessly hoping Vincent would hear, "I'll see you soon, and there _will_ be another night."

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* * *

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(Author's note: I began this ages ago, but I never got around to finishing it (: Even though the episode was a while ago, I thought I would post this Fic anyway. It's probably going to be a bit of an acquired taste, but their relationship in the episode was too intense for me to ignore and I loved them together (: I'm going to write a sequel one-shot soon, and maybe another after that (: All reviews welcome and appreciated!)


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